He thrusts into me in one brutal push, filling me.
I cry out in a moan, swallowed by thunder cracking overhead, the storm answering us with its own violence.
Each thrust slams me harder into the wall, stone scraping my spine, pain and pleasure fusing until the moment sears into me like it’ll never leave.
The sky opens and the world blurs behind a curtain of rain, but I barely notice. All I feel is him, his hands gripping my thighs, the way his body moves like he was made to break me open and fill in the cracks.
He growls my name against my shoulder, biting down gently, and the pain blurs into pleasure. My hips move with his, desperate, frantic, like I’m chasing something I’ve never known before.
He mutters Italian against my ear, the meaning lost but the intent clear, his teeth grazing skin as his voice drops, raw and uneven, carrying the sound of someone already past the point of stopping.
His name is the only word I can form. Over and over.
“Matteo… Matteo.” I moan again.
“Say it again,” he growls, fucking me harder, deeper.
“Matteo.”
Release rips through me, lightning in my veins, white-hot and blinding. A scream tears out of me, raw and ragged, as my body convulses around him. Lightning from the night sky hitsagain, the rain prickles over our skin. I shake, spasming around him, nails drawing blood down his back.
He follows seconds later, his hips stuttering, jaw clenched, growling against my mouth as he spills inside me, every inch of him locked in place. My name escapes his lips in a whisper.
We slide back against the wall, breath tearing out of us in broken gasps. His forehead presses to mine, his arms locked under my thighs, holding me in place as if he can’t let go. My hands cling to his neck, trembling. I’m still wrapped around him, joined, shaking from the aftershocks. Rain sheets down, soaking us both, but we don’t move.
“I shouldn’t have touched you…again” he murmurs, voice rough against my skin.
“But you did.”
His thumb drags across my swollen lip, slow, like he can’t decide if he’s erasing the kiss or branding it there forever.
“I’ll regret this,” he whispers.
“I won’t.”
He eases out of me, slow, reluctant, fixing his clothes with quick, rough motions. Then he turns back, tugging my leggings up with hands softer than before, steadying me when my knees falter. His touch has shifted less fire, more reverence.
The stone at my back is cold, slick with rain, but I know it will remember just like I will. What we did is carved into this rooftop now, into my skin, into him.
Thunder crashes overhead, lightning splitting the sky wide open. Matteo laughs, raw, unguarded, nothing like the sharp smirks he wears in daylight. The sound jolts through me, rare and real, and I want to hear it again.
“Even God knows this is wrong,” he says, glancing at the lightning. “The storm’s a warning to keep away.” He leans in, presses one last soft kiss to my lips, then steps back, tasting the moment on his own. “Good night, little lamb.”
I sit in the courtyard,sun warming my shoulders. No one would guess a storm tore through only hours ago, the stone is dry, the sky too calm.
I feel him before I see him, somewhere across the courtyard, eyes on me. He always watches.
Conor’s voice snaps me out of it, tearing last night from my head.
“Aoife.”
I blink, turning to find him standing a few steps away. His jaw is tight, arms crossed over his chest. The way he’s looking at me isn’t just a cousinly concern. It's an obligation.
“We need to talk,” he says. His tone isn’t casual. It's a warning.
I raise a brow. “About?”
“We’re going home this weekend.”
